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New Poems

WHAT TREE AM I WAITING

That whole part of the world

where I won’t go any-

more

that whole separation

that I won’t feel

high in this house

in this hemisphere

in this artificial light

that is artificial

in the earliest morning; dark

in pages and pens

in an unfamiliar bed

in the foot curl

furniture

each rumble

when morning comes

and it’s still morning

and it’s still night

I married a dead girl

we were born in her

bloom

remember that fat bumblebee

landed on a lamp

I opened the doors

and I forgot and the house

got colder and colder

where is this house

the seam between boards

merely gains my attention

it’s dark and thin

I monitor each situation

my bladder growing full

climb down climb up

what tree am I waiting

my whole life in weather

waiting for my raft

I’ll fly to another island

I’ll take a train

already I know

it will hurt

this is the hurt country

I came here

to hold the hurt like a bird

like a tree

traffic has rings

we watch it whirl around

damaging our night

great continents hold

the feelings and the ages

what is mine

going blind

great masses of them

not going home

the country drew a line

because of memory

one said

I feel my heart race ahead

in eternity there is this ache

there is this wakefulness

SUMMER

That morning in the light

that television show got born

I remember it in California

every morning a show

and her wife in bed

do I like her being there

but I have this now

my pride and my telephone

and all my information

PROPHESY

I’m playing with the devil’s cock

it’s like a crayon

it’s like a fat burnt crayon

I’m writing a poem with it

I’m writing that down

all that rattling heat in this room

I’m using that

I’m using that tingling rattle

that light in the middle of the room

it’s my host

I’ve always been afraid of you

scared you’re god and something else

I’m afraid when you’re yellow

tawny

white it’s okay. Transparent cool

you don’t look like home

my belly is homeless

flopping over the waist of my jeans like an omelette

there better be something about feeling fat

what there really is is a lack of emptiness

I’m aiming for that empty feeling

going to get some of that

and then I’ll be back

LONDON
EXCHANGE

I have utmost

respect for you

but in that

moment if I

were to

get out of

your way

instead of

walking up the stairs

to my home

I would have

no respect

for myself.

I didn’t know

why you couldn’t

understand this

when I told

you. Instead

you screamed

at me and

told me I

was rude. And

then you

said someone

of my

age should

know meaning

that you

were adding

to my crime

the fact

that I am

older than you.

What am I

to do. How

many days

have passed

and I

have no

reason to think

that

your ancestors

were stolen

from their

home in A-

frica

and because

of my not

knowing that this

is true

but thinking

that it

is possible

it makes

me certain

that respect

next time

would be

for me

to step around.

Maybe

I could say

quietly joining you

for a moment

in your

vast and

ancient

sorrow

that was

my home

MY DEVIL

before the sky

opens &

I drop my

tiny ladder

I will inhabit

the minds

of dogs

& try me on

for size

I will lean

against the side

of the bldg.

& smoke my

blonde smoke

I will be

Inside my

big car

something happens

that’s what

I say

there’s always

a recipe

I will recite

My blonde

list

I am

the negation

of you

spell’s on

they’re reeling us

in

I want her

thoughts

These cattle

are mine

the salad’s

not bad

The devil is

Turning into ev-

eryone

I’m you for

a while. Genitals

itchy. That’s

me. I’m going

to ruin

your corn

it’s not such

a bad idea.

Give me that

poem. Give

me that menu

give me

key

I don’t

need to

come or go

I’m there

In your prayer.

Mr. President

consider the

wish of the

tiny child.

he is me.

does it taste good

or does it look

like it tastes good

you don’t know.

See.

MEMORY

I lost it

that soft

ball I threw

in my room

across

many walls

because

I love toys.

It warmed

to my grip

became dirty

went splat

and I threw

it against

the writing

on the wall

not hitting

it exactly

but with

a smile

went

out the door

to rise over

golden hills

and descend

with a family

on a tram

ride through

graves

you irreplace-

able

the best

thing I had

my passion

for you

I hope

will continue,

summer

THAT RAT’S DEATH

I’m proud

that I fed my avocado

to the mice this

week

To see that scattered dust

around the hole

I felt dis-

appointed the apple had

been spared

the throbbing

soup, home

he said it’s a storm

it’s a storm I thought

am I allowed

to ask entire questions

to take this

space alone

you bobbing

you painted in my dog’s

face so care-

fully

some kind of violence

stretches the thought so

long and allows the horns

of words to touch each

other. I think of him

taking

this much space.

you don’t know about this

dish towel

for that matter

who was I in another time

giving the tails so much

puzzled that these spices

went someplace else

they did today in a sandwich

the empty hall into which I am

reading

the empty country

an entire country

I wanted all of them

how I would like

just one to pick

things up in

its cities and its rain

its coast

the outer coat

78 rpm

silly

news-

papers

turning

cat on a porch

and other countries

nearby

& home ready for me

when I have

something to say or

show

if ever

my empty mistakes

my empty vase

my empty powers of horror

my empty sex

o bring the snow

that rat’s death

killed me because i

would see it for days

over and over and

it hardly could be the same

rat whose insides

whisked the street

we don’t think that war

is such an incredible

mess but it was

just yesterday

and in ancient poems

years ago in the past

dying the balloon just

bursts it cannot

bring u back again

the huge cool breath

the lake doesn’t want

you anymore or her

arms her sweet

muff or breast the storm

the past.

but no I won’t leave

my cheese out for them

anymore and I must be

the last person in the world

in new york to read him

who told us about mice

that sing & fill empty auditoriums

like us and our singing hearts

our formula for bringing

it out. Pulling the receptacle

apart watch the tiny ship

floating on it

smithereens

I ducked the tail edging over

taking a little bit more. The price

of wider concepts is not

choosing your drops oh

flicking me off reminding

me of you everyone yell at once

Two Rabbit legs jutting out

I keep my childhood

around almost more than every-

one and a mouse can share

my house wet toot tootsie

it’s kind of great the whole

thing is relative. Since I ad-

mired his mountains I imagin-

ed I was in his landscapes

but opening packages is occurring

all over the place. That’s a

strong image and I feel like

the smallness is directly rooted

forgetting to use the new cal-

endar I planned. These

marks (I imagined) are the sources

all the milk flooding wildly

over the rolling hills and out of

the sun’s comical eyes. Not tears

but creamy drops

of mammalian weather.

I’m given real information

and the most difficult part

is blindly creating the space

where the parts I can’t

see or even hear spread out

(like the night in Paris when

I walked to the movies

      ) onto my desk and the surrounding

hills into the bleachers where everyone

is pounding themselves bloody

in salute of the hunt

all I ever wanted was dinner

or at least his

love the delight I see

in him is equally empty for anyone

& probably that’s his

stealth. Inner lake. There’s a car a maroon

a colourless oval I can imagine the

seats and the feeling of hearing

a song as we’re weaving

over hills. There’s no break. Ev-

erybody I ever saw in my

seacoast community is already

facing the problems huge and

gloomy I grant you and the

night spills on my keys which

are splayed over the counter and

outside it’s light. & they are flip-

ping their cards every one of

them.

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